Monday, May 3, 2010

i do laundry
at the kitchen window
fold clothes straight from the dryer
as if i'd been born for this
born knowing how to make corners and piles out of clean clothes
or maybe it's all those years i watched my parents do the same,
mommy ironing our skirts and dresses with a VHS tape playing in the background

it will always be summer,
the way i remember things,
summer breeze and summers' sun
setting only after we lay in bed,
backs beaded with sweat, stuck to tie-dyed sheets.

thinking about memories and laundry and summer nights
about the smell of pasta and the sticky yellow linoleum tiles
windows open
and we come,
running, dirty hands, inside for dinner.

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